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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527684">Things don't change... until they do</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani'>Arzani</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>changing things (Clovis in the Accidental Warlord AU) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Introspection, Swearing, accidental warlod au, asshole becoming a non-asshole, at least some</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:15:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clovis is an asshole. He always was and always will be. Because things don't change, the world doesn't change. Life is just like that.</p><p>Until things do change, and Geralt becomes the Warlord of the North... and Clovis less an asshole than he always thought he was.</p><p>Inspired by inexplicifics' Accidental Warlord AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clovis (The Witcher) &amp; Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>changing things (Clovis in the Accidental Warlord AU) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>398</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Things don't change... until they do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273713">With a Conquering Air</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics">inexplicifics</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing was, in some objective way, Clovis knew he was an asshole. He just didn’t think women could do what men could. He had grown up under a father that had been able to order his mother around, make her clean and cook and mend, and shout at her at that, and she never had been able to stand up for herself.</p><p>Well, eight years into his childhood and Rennes had saved his father’s life and he had been sent to Kaer Morhen as a child surprise. Never to see his father again. Or his mother at that. Sometimes, in his quieter moments he wondered if she had survived his father. Not that it mattered. Women were weak. She probably hadn’t.</p><p>Maybe he should have gone check on her. But when the thought crossed his mind - after he had survived cruel training and even crueler trials and the fucking first year on the path - it had been too late. The house his parents had lived in empty, the village destroyed by some bandits or knights or brigands or whatnot. There were enough men out there to be able to burn and ransack and kill. Also, he was a witcher. His family were his fellow wolves, his home was Kaer Morhen and he did <em> not </em> have emotions. They had been burnt out of him during the Trial of Grasses. Everyone knew that. He himself knew that.</p><p>Fuck this ache in his chest and fuck the memory of him, five years or so, listening in to his father shouting and him wanting to do something. It was just the way life was.</p><p>Women were to cook and mend and clean, and men were to hunt and work and have a go at their wives whenever they wanted.</p><p>
  <em> “Listen, boy, one day you’ll be a man and then you’ll understand all I’m telling you. As a man you’re the superior of women. That’s how life intends it to be.” </em>
</p><p>The memory of his mother’s cries in the night, when he had gone to bed, and his father’s grunts threatened to surface and he shoved it down with vehemence. Women were to clean and cook and mend, and men were to work and hunt and have a go at their wives whenever they wanted, and he, Clovis, was a witcher and therefore would never marry and he was <em> glad </em> about it.</p><p>Humans loathed him, he didn’t question the way of life, went on the path and put the memory of his mother out of his mind.</p><p>All was well, he could be an asshole all he wanted. It wasn’t as if life wasn’t an asshole right back at him. Things didn’t change, anyway.</p>
<hr/><p>Things didn’t change. Until they did.</p><p>Things didn’t change and he was an asshole and nobody had a problem with that because he was a witcher, and witchers were supposed to be assholes. They were supposed to kill monsters and save humans, all those humans that despised them and had to go back to villages that were ransacked, because kings didn’t care.</p><p>In his humble opinion, he was a good witcher. Maybe not the smartest of his school - he knew Eskel after all, and Vesemir was pretty wise, too. Not the fastest or most agile - hell, Lambert could be a cat for all that it mattered. And definitely not the strongest. Geralt, with his extra mutations, was simply unbeatable. But he was a good witcher, who did his job and came back every winter, with a few more scars to show, but very much alive - and still an asshole. But what did that matter? There were no women in the Keep.</p><p>Things didn’t change. Never had. Until Geralt asked “What about the monsters who are also men?”</p><p>The memory of a ransacked village swept through his mind, of burnt houses and ashes and the everlasting question of what had happened to his mother. He was an asshole, but when they voted to invite the other schools in, he voted yes, and when then they voted to change things, he still voted yes.</p><p>He was an asshole, not a monster.</p><p>He almost had gotten used to that strange ache in his chest. Almost.</p><p>The thing was, while things changed - and very drastically at that - it still didn’t change that much. At least not for him. The keep was the keep, now only a little fuller, but they still had to rotate to cook - with mixed results, sometimes inedible, sometimes just bad - and mend their own shit and clean their rooms themselves. Because they were witchers and witchers were male and not one human dared to come to the keep.</p><p>Well - there were the female cats, lithe, agil witchers, with sneers and feral grins - and when he had suggested into Dragonfly’s face that if she was looking for the kitchen, it was the wrong way, he had been stabbed pretty badly. Aiden, that asshole had laughed in his face, and Eskel - the traitor - had just shook his head.</p><p>“Don’t bother with him,” Aiden had laughed, “he’s just an asshole.”</p><p>Why Lambert liked that fucker this much, Clovis would never know. But as he bandaged the stab wound himself, he could concede that maybe those female witchers weren’t that weak. But they were witchers after all. The Trials surely had burned all female weaknesses out of them.</p><p>He was okay to live with that knowledge.</p>
<hr/><p>Women were weak. Female witchers were witchers. He was an asshole and Geralt had started to become the Warlord of the North. But Kaer Morhen was still a witcher’s keep and that was that. Life may change, but some things never did.</p><p>Some things didn’t change… or so he believed, until that woman Zofia had climbed the Killer and stood before Geralt, pledging her loyalty for killing the man that had killed her sister. The memory of cries and grunted moans threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed them down. Fuck this. A woman in armor? She wouldn’t survive a day. Would probably run the moment she stepped into the hot springs.</p><p>She didn’t.</p><p>Not even when he made lewd comments, told her she could clean his room and then maybe clean some parts of him, with her mouth. Not that he wanted <em> that </em> . He just wanted her gone, wanted to forget the reason why she was <em> here </em>, and the memory of cries at night with it.</p><p>She didn’t leave, told him that if he needed a cleaning so desperately he probably should use soap, maybe in his mouth, because that seemed dirty and even threw a soap bar at his head - with frightening accuracy. He caught it, of course, but in the meantime all the other wolves yelled at him to stop being a dick - even Geralt, and all that he had achieved was making the woman smile. Why that made his chest feel light he didn’t know.</p><p>The next day he challenged her in the training court and while she was a woman and a human woman at that - and therefore couldn’t beat him. Or any other witcher - she surprisingly stood her ground. She knew how to hold a sword and probably could go at a human man with ease.</p><p>He hated to admit she was probably the first female he had encountered that had fought back. Well, except for the female cats. But they were witchers and witchers even if female, after all, were witchers… and he should stop here or he was going in circles.</p><p>Zofia found her place in the keep and Clovis was still an asshole. But he stopped telling her to be better suited for the kitchens, or cleaning, or mending at that. And the only witcher who had a go at her was Auckes and somehow that didn’t seem to bother her at all. But maybe that was because they weren’t married.</p>
<hr/><p>He couldn't pinpoint how much time passed between Zofia’s arrival and Jan’s arrival - time was a strange concept for witchers - but with Jan came changes. With Jan came the servants. Human servants.</p><p>Somehow, with some exceptions, most of those human servants were women. Women that cooked and cleaned and mended. As they should.</p><p>It fit easily into his head, why the laundresses and seamstresses and cook’s assistants did all what they did. He had to admit it was nice to know that the food continuously would taste as good as it did, now that Marlene cooked and that his shirts wouldn’t be ruined by uneven stitches. Also, somehow, women knew how to erase blood-stains and wasn’t that a gift sent from the gods?</p><p>Only that fucking monster ichor never washed out… and oh, well, whatever. Fuck that, at least the black didn’t clash with his red hair.</p><p>The point was, if those women were to become a part of the keep, then it was at least right for them to do what they were supposed to do. Which he said, a lot, out loud.</p><p>Saying it made it easier for him to ignore the stench of fear that still lingered on them in traces. Those humans were wary of him and his fellows. They didn’t show it, but they were. He could smell their unease, whenever they encountered one of them by surprise - saw the women bow their heads and mumble “I’m sorry, my lords” in uneven tones and it reminded him of his father, and how he shouted at his mother and how his mother only ever bowed her head.</p><p>Maybe Zofia was an exception. Every rule needed an exception.</p><p>However it was, saying rude things made it easier for him to bear the scent of unease, and it reminded him of the way life was and that some things couldn’t be changed. He was no sorcerer, he couldn’t look into people’s heads and could only guess what they thought. Why they had come to a keep full of witchers they couldn’t bear to look in the eye.</p><p>Again, he was reprimanded by his fellow witchers. They often punched him over the head when they listened in to him saying a lewd comment to a seamstress, or threatened to cut out his tongue, if he insulted a laundress. It was all well, after all he was an asshole - and the scent of fear seemed to dim on the servants whenever he was reprimanded. So that was a plus.</p><p>It took a while, but after some weeks and months, he made another lewd comment. Some of the servants walked past Ealdred and him, and said something about being hungry. Of course he had to reply “I can feed you something of me.” while making some very suggestive gesture. He just couldn’t help himself. Ealdred, the chivalrous bastard shoved him into the wall and growled - and the servants chuckled.</p><p>“Thank you sir witcher,” one of them replied. The other - Nina, he was sure she was called Nina. She always grinned smugly at him, no scent of fear on her at all. - curtsied at Ealdred and said, “At least one knows how to treat a woman.” Her brown eyes glinted dangerously at him. Something inside his chest churned, but he also felt good that none of them smelled of fear.</p><p>When they walked past him, Ealdred asked him, “Why do you always have to be such an asshole?”</p><p>But honestly he didn’t really listen. Instead he caught the conversation of the two women, who snickered.</p><p>“He’s always incredibly rude, but he never even as much as touched any of us servants,” Not-Nina wondered out loud.</p><p>“That’s because he’s essentially a big puppy who doesn’t know how to ask for love. He’s bark but no bite. They all are.”</p><p>“True. None of them have even tried to drag us into their chambers. What a change from all the other courts.” He basically could hear Non-Nina’s shudder and something inside him went cold. He even stopped walking.</p><p>“You know, I think he’s the reason I realized witchers aren’t like that. He’s an asshole, but that’s it. Not a monster. And the rest always reprimand him. Made me realize we’re safe here. Finally.”</p><p>“Yeah, bark but no bite. Very true. Always offer a helping hand, too. Very noble beings those wi-”</p><p>He wasn’t able to follow the conversation, because Nina and non-Nina had gone out of earshot and maybe the blood rushing through him and the ringing in his ears had something to do with it, too. Ealdred looked at him strangely, but didn’t protest when he murmured something about forgetting something in his room, and telling him he’d join them for training in a minute. He never did that day, and fortunately no one asked why he hadn’t.</p>
<hr/><p>He was an asshole. He knew he was an asshole. He was supposed to be an asshole. That was what he was. He was Clovis, he was a witcher and an asshole. It was how it was supposed to be. Easy. Straightforward. Unchangeable.</p><p>But hadn't things changed all around him? Geralt was the Warlord of the North. Witchers killed monstrous men. Humans lived in the keep. Women fought alongside witchers and he had helped someone, a woman, feel less frightened of their kind.</p><p>But wasn’t he supposed to be an asshole? A person superior to women, just like his father had always said?</p><p>Women were to mend and cook and clean, and men were to work and hunt and have a go at their wives whenever they wanted. Just like the monsters that called themselves righteous kings had apparently a go at their servants whenever they wanted. Servants who didn’t have a choice. Who would lose their livelihood if they fought back, or maybe even their lives.</p><p>Anger built in his stomach, at those men, at the world that didn’t change and at his father in particular. For forcing his mother again and again, hurting her beyond belief and making him believe it was life’s intended will for him to do so, too.</p><p>He was a witcher and he was better than that. He followed the White Wolf and had helped change a world that wasn’t supposed to change. Things didn’t change, until they did and maybe he was an asshole, until he decided not to be one anymore.</p>
<hr/><p>The next day Jan presented a woman at supper. Well, after supper. Most of the witchers had already left the hall. But she smelled so strongly of apprehension, but also of hopefulness, that he hadn’t wanted to walk past her. The scent stung in his nose. The apprehension did. Always.</p><p>“White Wolf, Sera Larus, she would like to work in your service and become a seamstress of Kaer Morhen,” Jan said. Geralt looked from the steward to the woman - a young thing, maybe seventeen. She shuddered under his gaze, the apprehension changing to fear.</p><p>Someone else approached him, and he saw Nina walk towards him, carrying plates. When she reached for his, she murmured, “Poor thing, was probably beaten by her father or so.” He looked from Nina to the girl. Because that she was, just a girl. “Look at those purple bruises.”</p><p>It was then that he saw purple and green bruises peek out from where her sleeves gave way to her arms. At the collar of her dress. Not hidden well enough to not see them, but covered enough to miss them at first glance if you didn’t know where to look. But they were there.</p><p>Of course she was afraid of Geralt. Of course she was afraid of men. Men had hurt her in the past, and rumors of witchers weren’t kind. But still, she had had the balls to come here, to Kaer Morhen, and try.</p><p>His gaze shifted towards Nina who had stopped beside him, her smile sly and easy, and her scent so, so light and full of sunflower happiness. Her eyes glinted.</p><p>“Oy, you think the way her clothes look, she isn’t that good at her craft. Maybe better let her scrub the floor. Or something else,” he stated loudly to no one in particular, but in Geralt’s general direction. His tone was lewd. By now it didn’t take him much effort to make it sound just so.</p><p>Immediately many a witcher growled, some shouting for him to shut up, until Geralt stopped it by growling, “Clovis, fuck off. Everyone else, quiet.” Then he turned to the girl. “I apologize for my fellow brother. He’s an asshole, but will do you no harm. No one here will. If Jan thinks you’re a suitable seamstress, I welcome you. Jan, show her around.”</p><p>The scent of fear abated and turned to surprise. With staggered movements the girl curtsied and murmured a “Thank you, my lord.” When she looked at Geralt this time, it was with brighter eyes and less clouded by fear. The air smelled much nicer now, too.</p><p>“Thank you, oh noble asshole,” Nina whispered and to his surprise, pressed a quick peck on his cheek. Then she left, but not without leaving the smell of sunflower happiness and fresh grass in his nose. It reminded him of home. No, it reminded him of his mother - in the spare moments she had been happy and content, when his father was away for work.</p><p>Caught in his surprise, he didn’t see Geralt looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, the edge of his mouth raised in silent amusement. Which was okay, he wasn’t adept in reading his fellow brother anyway.</p>
<hr/><p>The thing was, Clovis knew he was an asshole. He was rude and made inappropriate comments and could be pretty lewd if he wanted to. But the thing was also that his brothers punched him for it, and called him out on his assholery and people felt better when they realized he was all bark and no bite.</p><p>Things didn’t change, after all. He was a witcher, Kaer Morhen was a witcher’s keep and they fought monsters. Things didn’t change. Until they did. Because women could do what men did. Witchers could be a people, too, who fought for other people and killed men that were monsters. They could protect who needed protection and run a kingdom under the rule of the Warlord of the North.</p><p>Some things changed. Others didn’t.</p><p>He would always be an asshole. But somehow that was okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>3k words later ... I like him, okay?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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